Chapter XII: Daisy's Trouble

"I WONDER if I couldn't manage to stand, if I tried," said Daisy wistfully. She had had the thought in her mind for some days before it came out. A month had passed since old Isaac's last visit to her room, and Daisy as yet seemed not much better. John Davis in hospital was making steady advance towards recovery, and Daisy was often haunted by a dread of the time when Mary would have to leave her. "I can't think what I shall do," she murmured sadly one day to her nurse, and then after some thought she broke into the wonder whether she might not be able to stand, if she tried.

"You'd be quick enough up if you could, Daisy," said Mary Davis.

"But perhaps I've grown lazy, Nursie," said Daisy. "Perhaps I ought just to try. You lift me and do everything for me, so that I haven't had to try. I'm sure father must be getting vexed at my staying in bed so long."

Mary Davis would not tell Daisy how vexed Mr. Meads was, nor how he grudged Daisy's nurse every mouthful of food that she ate. Her one aim was to shelter Daisy. But she did sometimes wonder how things were to end.

"Nurse," said Daisy suddenly, "I want to see father again."

"By-and-by," said Mary.

"No, not by-and-by. I want to see him now," said Daisy with firmness. "I am quite sure I ought, Nursie. He must be so lonely, with nobody to see after him all day. You needn't leave me alone with him, if you don't like, but I mast see him, please."

"He'll make you ill again, Miss Daisy."

"No, I don't think so. I'm better than I was—a great deal," said Daisy. "My head isn't so strange, and I don't seem to be so startled at everything. If only my legs didn't feel so heavy, I should think I was going to be quite well very soon indeed. Nursie, dear, I want to see father presently, but I do want first, please, to try if I can stand."

"You can't stand," said Mary gravely.

"I want to make sure. Father is sure to ask me, and then I can tell him that I've tried. I really can sit up a little now, with the pillows behind me, and I don't see why I shouldn't stand,—just for a second or two. I'd rather not ask Mr. Bennet, because he might tell me to wait, and I do want to try."

Mary did not argue the question longer. Daisy's imploring face was quite too much for her. She carefully wrapped a warm dressing-gown round the prostrate thin figure, and then she very gently lifted Daisy up and out of bed, placing and holding her in an upright position.

"Nursie, am I standing? I can't be sure," said Daisy, with dilated anxious eyes and quick breathing. "Are my feet down flat on the floor? It feels so queer."

"Yes, you're standing now, Daisy," said Mary Davis.

"Don't let go, please," said Daisy faintly. "The room is all going round. My legs are just as heavy as in bed, Nursie."

"Yes, dear. I'll put you back now," said Mary.

The words seemed to rouse Daisy. "No, no, I haven't tried standing alone yet," she said hurriedly. "Let me go a moment, Nursie."

"My dear, you can't," said Mary.

"I want to try. Please—oh, please, do, quickly."

Mary relaxed partially her firm hold, intending to do no more, but at the same instant Daisy with a quick movement pushed both her hands away. It was the work of a moment. Before Mary could grasp her again, Daisy had sunk in a heap on the ground.

"O Nursie, I can't, I can't," she said despairingly. "Oh, what shall I do?"

Mary uttered no reproaches. She lifted Daisy up from the floor, not without difficulty, laid her in the bed, and drew the clothes over her. Daisy hid her face in the pillow, with a burst of heart-broken sobbing.

"I did think I should be able," she moaned. "I didn't think it would be so bad. Nursie, I don't believe I shall ever be able to walk again. And what will father say?"

"There's no use looking forward for troubles that mayn't ever come," said Mary quietly. "If the trouble is sent by God, Mr. Meads'll have to bear it, and so will you, Miss Daisy. But you don't know yet as it will come. Nobody can tell yet. It's as like as not you'll be walking all right in a few weeks or months."

"Does Mr. Bennet say so?" asked poor Daisy, weeping still.

"He says it's a good sign that you're able to bear sitting up a bit. He says he don't know how long it'll be, but he hopes you'll get on better by-and-by."

Daisy fell into a fresh fit of sobs. "Oh, I did think I should be able to stand just for a moment," she said. "I did think I could. And it seemed as if I hadn't the least feeling in my legs."

"And you are so weak too," said Mary. "That makes the matter worse."

"Father will be so disappointed. I shouldn't mind if it wasn't for him. I can't think what he will say!" moaned Daisy, quite overcome by her bitter disappointment.

It came suddenly into Mary's head that this would be no bad time for Isaac to see Daisy again. She acted on the moment's impulse, not quite wisely, perhaps, since she could not tell at all how the old man would behave, and Daisy was already upset. Leaving the bedroom, she went quickly across to the parlour, and there accosted Isaac with the words,—

"Do you want to see Daisy, Mr. Meads?"

"I'd have seen her long ago, if it hadn't been for you," grumbled Isaac.

"I'll take you in now, if you promise me not to stay a moment longer than I give you leave."

Isaac Meads grunted a response.

"You mustn't be there many minutes, for Daisy is weak, but she wants to have a sight of you again."

"She isn't going to die?" asked Isaac, with some show of interest.

"No," said Mary sharply. "Much you'd care if she did. Come."

Mary was vexed with herself the next moment for her sharp way of speaking. After all, the old man could scarcely be counted to have his full wits. She led the way, and Isaac shuffled after.